Fateful Encounter
by AwesomeMango
Summary: Amelia stumbles upon a drunk (?) guy on the side of the café and decides to comfort him with hot chocolate and churros. But then what happens is that the drunkie was actually an angel, who was convinced on returning the favor by persuading her to believe in God? Nyo!America x OC! Philippines. Philippines OC belons to HC.
1. Prologue

I walked through the empty streets, hands in my Levi jeans. Usually, I would wear a mini-skirt, but it was March and the cool of December hasn't left us.

I could see it up ahead: the neon sign, the bright lights, the cars parked in front even though it's eleven in the evening. I begin to pick my pace up, a huge smile forming on my face. Soon, I'll be there. The sweet taste of freedom was already in my mouth (or is that the cookies I ate earlier?).

I guess I should fill you in on what's happening. Every night, I sneak out of my room and into the night of Washington D.C. to get to the café at the other side of town. It was a long walk, but it didn't matter. I liked it. I get to re-arrange my thoughts and plan everything I'm going to do in there. Today, I would read my newly bought book and order a steaming cup hot chocolate. Maybe I would even buy fries.

In a matter of minutes, I made it to the front of the café. I was slightly tired from the walk and had to stop and breathe for a moment before I could get in. It was a good thing to sign up for girl's baseball team—it strengthened my stamina, which I needed for this very activity.

I grabbed the door handle and was about to pull it until something caught my eye. At the very corner of the café, I could see a man in his early twenties slumped there like a doll. I can't exactly see his face, but he was wearing what looked like a blue sweater (the sleeves were rolled up) and beige shorts. Another drunkie?

If there was one thing that this café was famous for was drunk people. It didn't serve beer, but it was close to a bar a few stores away. The drunkies often try to walk home, but end up sleeping in front of this building.

I don't know why, but I couldn't help approaching him. I was extra, extra quiet so I wouldn't disturb him. I mean, I heard that waking drunks up was an obvious death wish from my little sister (who knew I sneak out), Madeline, who was probably just joking around. But I don't want to risk it.

Up close, the drunkie (I decided he must be drunk) seemed . . . cute. Very, very cute. He had brown, messy hair and tanned skin. Too bad he drinks.

I quietly tiptoe away from him and back to the front door of the café, taking one last glance at the drunkie before entering.

The warm café air welcomed me as the familiar noisiness of chatter filled my ears. I wanted to yell, "I'm home!" but that would attract too much attention, which I didn't want right now. For what reasons, I won't tell. If I stayed quiet, kept my head down, and minded my own business, then I'm safe.

I go to my usual spot: the very back of the café, on the last table. It was dim and if it wasn't for my various visits there, cobwebs would be scattered all over there.

I sit, crossing my legs, and open my book to the very first page. The title page, blah blah , disclaimer, blah blah, copyright, blah blah, acknowledgements—oh, oh, there! Right there! The first chapter.

I begin to read, humming as I did so, but somehow my mind kept trailing off to the drunk at the corner of the café. I don't know why, but it just did. There was just something . . . not right about him. I mean, it's just a hunch, but there was . . . an unearthly touch at his image.

Was it the beer that he drank? Does beer make you look fabulous? I don't know. I wish I did, though. But most likely, everything is a big, fat, juicy 'no.'

"I see you are here again."

I look up from my book to see a familiar face. "Chun-babe,"

Chun is this Chinese transferee in my English class. I paid absolutely no mind to her until I started my adventures to this café. Now, she's one of my best friends. How? Well, sharing a churro can get you a long way.

"I told you to stop calling me that," she whispers, a blush forming on her olive skin. "But I will pay no mind. What is your order?"

"Hot cocoa," I reply. "The usual."

"With marshmallows?" she asks as she jots down my order.

"Always," I say, smiling brightly at her.

But then, something happened: I got the urge to help the poor sap outside. I don't know why, but it felt like it was the right thing to do as a heroine. Though, it was strange. I don't usually help drunkies. I hate them, actually, very, very much.

I blink, glance out the window, and say without thinking, "Also, 5 churros and another cup of hot chocolate. Wrap the churros in a bag."

Chun raises a questioning eyebrow, but nonetheless, writes it down. She doesn't say anything, but I could tell that she wants to know why I was suddenly ordering this many things. I usually would just order a cup of hot cocoa and fries, after all.

Chun then slides her pencil on the top of her ear, right under her firm bun, and makes her way into the kitchen.

Oh. My. Goodness.

What have I done? Why am I ordering for some stranger, most importantly, a _drunkie_?

_Because it's the right thing to do, _I think. _It's what a heroine does. _

But still, no matter how much I try to convince myself that what I did was good, there was a part of me that told me, '_No, this is wrong_.'

I shake my head. Seriously, something is wrong with me. Returning my attention back to my book, I continue to read.

I manage to read several pages before Chun comes back with my order. She sets the hot chocolates on the table, their strong, sweet scent filling my whole being as the steam rises up to the greasy ceiling. Aw, yeah, baby. Their hot chocolate is always the best.

"Thanks," I smile, shooting a grateful smile at her. I dig for some cash in my pocket, toss it on the table, and say, "Keep the change."

"Okay. Thanks, Ame." Chun grabs the money and waves goodbye, making her merry way off to another table where another customer sits.

I grab one of the hot chocolates and the bag of churros and rush outside. If I do this quickly then I could enjoy my night in peace.

The cool outside air greets me as I step into the streets, causing goosebumps to form along my arms. I turn to the side and see _him, _still knocked out on the side.

Slowly and cautiously, I approach him. Okay, good, good, he's still asleep. Gosh, Amelia, you're so stealthy, you could be a ninja! Too bad you're in the wrong time period.

Ever so carefully, I place the hot chocolate and churros on the hard pavement beside him. Then, like a rat being preyed upon by a cat, I skedaddle back into my safe haven.

Little did I know that that encounter will change my life forever.

* * *

_A/N: _

_Woot! Another story. But it's just made for fun and practice. Yeah, I'm practicing on 1st person point of view. :) I hope you guys like it! Reviews help motivate. CONSTRUCTIVE criticism is welcome, too. _

_Happy readings, guys!_


	2. Chapter 1

_Beep! Beep!_

Shut up.

_Beep! Beep!_

Shut up!

_Beep! Beep! _

I'm trying to _sleep. _

"Damn alarm clock. . ." I mutter through gritted teeth, slamming a hand on the _silent _button. I should have tossed it in the trash ever since I've received it on my 10th birthday. I can't believe I even _liked _this thing. But okay, I have to admit, it did seem cool at first. . . Oh, younger me. You never seen the misery it will bring to you 9 years later.

I open my eyes to see . . . gold?

That's not right, my ceiling is not gold. It's white. And where's the sunlight? It's supposed to be blinding me right now. What the hell is exactly going on right now?

"You know, cussing is a sin." says a voice. A male voice.

I blink, staring at the golden orbs right in front of me. Wait. . . Orbs? . . . No, _eyes. _And those eyes were attached to a person, a _man. _

I let out an ear-ripping scream and shove him off, scrambling to get my bat from under its hiding place: my pillow. I know, I know, it's strange for a girl to sleep with a bat under her pillow, but I am not a girl. I am Amelia.

Once I have a firm grip on ol' reliable, I turn to point it at the man, but he wasn't anywhere in my vision.

_Did he escape? _I look at my window. It's locked. Then at my door. It's locked, too. He couldn't have escaped. That'll be too quick. I only pushed him five seconds ago—he should be here, in this room, somewhere – anywhere!

_Under my bed. He must be under my bed. _That's right, he should be. That's where he could have gone to; it's his only hiding place! I peak under my bed. Nothing.

He's gone.

* * *

"Okay, so, you'd never believe what happened to me." I say as I close my locker shut. The familiar chatter of students and lockers clicking shut filled the background, but I paid them no mind. This, after all, was how my morning always sounded.

"Really?" Julchen, my best friend, asks as she closes her locker as well with a loud _click. _

Julchen is this German transfer kid who transferred to my school a few years ago. She's loud, obnoxious, snobby, and self-conceited, but she's one of the greatest friends you'll ever make. She's loyal, kind, and can take a hit for you. Not to forget to mention she's really pretty: Pure white, silky hair and red eyes with a hint of blue.

"Yeah. Totes." Sliding my backpack on, I continue, "So, this morning, there was this guy who was on top of me."

Julchen's eyes widen, her mouth falling open. "Oh mein gott."

"I know right? But dude, this is the part where you won't believe me: I pushed him off, grabbed ol' reliable, and when I came to face him—poof! Gone."

"You have _got_ to be kidding me. Girl, he can't just _disappear. _How long did it take for you to get ol' reliable?"

"3. . . No, 5 seconds. And that's what's crazy! I mean, how can a guy disappear in over 5 seconds? It just doesn't make sense."

We both stay silent, staring at each other for what seems like forever. Then, much to my relief, Julchen finally speaks up, "Maybe. . . Maybe he was a figment of your imagination?"

I think about it. Maybe she's right—maybe that guy was just my imagination. After all, I was still half-asleep. He couldn't be real.

But . . .

"The theory is tempting, but I'm pretty sure he isn't," I reply. "He felt too real. When I pushed him, I could feel him. He felt solid, hard, _human. _You get me?"

"Ja, I do, but Ame. . . Who knows, that might have been your mind playing tricks at you. When a person wakes up from slumber, the first few seconds are spent in between the real world and dream world. That means the man you touched and how he felt was your imagination because you're still trying to reach reality."

". . . Wow, that's deep."

"I know. I read it somewhere on the internet." Julchen smiles, her perfect, white teeth showing. "But anyways, let's get going, we might get late."

I return her smile.

"Okay."

* * *

School went by like a breeze. A bizarre and fast breeze.

During first period (a.k.a. English class), I couldn't really concentrate because my mind kept trailing off with Julchen's theory and whatnot. I got called on by Mrs. Kirkland, my English teacher, to read some stupid paragraph about past participles and got scolded since I had no idea where it was. Ugh, that was so embarrassing.

At second period (math), however, I somehow managed to stay down to earth. I don't know, maybe because it was my favorite subject. What? Amelia, you like math? Are you serious? But you're a blonde! (Right, I admit, that was racist.)

Well, who wouldn't? Okay, okay, I admit that it is sort of hard with the ratios and proportions, but hey—that's what I like: challenges. I'm the kind of girl that would sky dive while juggling pineapples instead of going to the mall. So, yeah, I'm kind of an oddball who loves obstacles.

But moving on, break came and I was munching on some crackers and chugging down Gatorade. I am always hungry, alright? I need my food! But aside from that, I was chatting with Julchen about eyebrows (don't ask why).

Third and fourth period (science and Spanish, respectively) went by normally. Mr. Jones (We have the same last name!), my science teacher, kept eating burgers to the point we couldn't understand him like always. Seriously, he needs to pull it together and teach! I'm learning nothing from my second favorite subject. Yeah, I know, I'm a geek.

When lunch came, that's when strange things started happening. This is when the 'bizarre' part comes in the breeze.

I had the strange feeling of being watched, like when you're left alone in your house in the middle of the night or something. I couldn't stay still since I was super uncomfortable and felt like screaming out, "Come out already, punk!" Trust me; if you've experienced it, we all know that the feeling of hidden eyes on you is terrible.

Then, as if things couldn't get any weirder, I saw a glimpse of a man. I mean, the instant I saw him, he disappeared.

I don't know if it's my imagination or something, but here's the really, really strange part: he looked like the drunkie from the café. How strange is that? Was he stalking me or something? _Maybe he just wants to say thanks, but is just too shy, _I thought. Yeah, that's it. Because stalking me after giving him something good to eat is just way too far off. Or has he been stalking me ever since? The idea sends gooseflesh on my arms.

Fifth period (history) was filled with me thinking of that drunkie from before. Stalking me? No, no, that's not it. That's not right. He couldn't be. I mean, I've never met him before. But isn't that how stalkers work? You never see them? Oh, but why would he stalk me? Those were the few of many questions that kept popping up in my mind. By the end of the period, I decided that it was just my imagination and I'm just being stupidly paranoid.

However, during sixth period (chemistry), I totally discarded my imagination theory and came up with a new one: the drunkie was probably a ghost. I know, I know, it's ridiculous, but hey! I'm a hyperactive teen with a wide imagination!

I mean, what else explains the disappearing and being watched secretly without being spotted? A ghost. That's what. And I'm not referring to the pale, red-eyed, clawed monsters you see in movies. I'm talking about energy left by a late human. You know, scientific stuff.

I made a decision to find ways to exorcise ghosts when I get home.

In a matter of time, the bell rung and school ended, which meant that baseball practice begun. We had practice every single school day, running 'til our legs throb and swinging the bat 'til our arms fall off. Everyone hated it, but I loved it with a burning passion. I loved getting dirty, tired, and exercising until my body turns into mush.

Today, practice was extra hard. We ran around the field multiple times until our legs nearly gave out, sweating a whole ocean and gasping for air greedily. Then, we swung our bats until our arms were numb and our hands were full of calluses. "There goes my manicure," commented Julchen, who was also in the baseball team (I dragged her). We also practiced throwing the balls and I swear, I broke a fingernail.

I won't go into full detail in the rest of the things we did, though. That would require a whole page and I can't risk to waste time.

So, after baseball practice, I made my way to my house. It's not far from my school, thanks to my mom's amazing house-hunting skills. My whole body was in pain - my legs felt like giving out, my arms were once again callused and numb, my back was killing me, and I was drenched in sweat! I have never felt so amazing in my entire life.

Once I reached my house, I rushed to my room and collapsed on my bed. "Home, sweet home," I say, snuggling with my pillow. Oh, bed. How I've missed you and your blissful, caressing touch.

Slowly, I fall asleep. Now, let me tell you something: I'm not the type to have dreams. So, when a dream popped up from nowhere, I was pretty shocked.

I was standing in a pure white room, a mirror in the middle of each four walls. I could see my reflection: my messy blonde hair, my pale skin, and cerulean eyes. I was wearing a pink tank top and a beige mini-skirt, which I found weird since it was still pretty cold at this time of year. But hey, that's how dreams are - weird.

In front of me stands a man. He's taller and broader than me. He has golden eyes, unruly brown hair, and . . . Wait. I know this man. He's that drunkie!

"It's you," I say.

He smiles. Oh my goodness, he has a cute smile.

"Yeah," he shrugs, having a strange, exotic accent I can't pinpoint. "Hi. I can't really talk right now. I'm on a job. But meet me at the front of the café, I'll wait for you . . . But most likely, you'll be waiting for me." He laughs. Crud, he also has a cute laugh, too.

"Uh, bro, I have totally no idea what you're talking about. Is this how dreams work? Are they always this strange? Where are we, to be exact? I see no doors."

He smiles in a mysterious way and says, "I'll explain later. Just meet me at the café."

"But you're just a figment of my imagination," I huff, folding my arm. "I can't meet you. I mean, yes, you're real—like, you're based off a real person, but you right now are actually my imagination. You can't tell me later because you don't exist . . . I mean—Oh, you get the point!"

"Oh, Amelia, I'm as real as real can be. I know that it's hard to believe, but trust me. I'll explain how I contacted you through your dreams and why I've been following you—"

"Wait, you've been following me? But that's impossible!"

"Nothing is impossible. Now, remember, meet me by the café. I have a special gift for you. I have to go now, God might be angry with my slacking. Good bye, Amelia."

"Wait—"

There was a flash of light and poof! He was gone. The room was gone. I was in darkness.

I stood there, gaping, wondering what the _hell _just happened. What in the world was that? What happened to the room? Was that just my mind playing tricks on me? Is my subconscious trying to tell me something? Did it want something in return for helping that man? I don't know.

Pinching my arm, I jolt awake, back in reality (hah, it works!). That's enough weird dreams for now. I'll just pray that my dreams aren't as strange as that.

I glance at my clock, 9:45 P.M. I still have time before I go to the café. Not that I'm going there because the drunkie told me to, it's just because I go there every day (I've told you before, remember?). But still, another part of me is whispering, "You just want to see if what he said was real, haha."

I get up, groaning, my body aching much more than from before. Then I make my way to the bathroom, where I will take a nice, refreshing shower. It would numb the pain at the very least. And that's what I totally needed.

When I get to the bathroom, I strip from all my clothing and enter the shower stall. I then turn the knob for the hot water, little droplets of warm liquid pelting my throbbing body.

I couldn't help but sigh once the water makes contact with my skin – it was so refreshing! So, I just stand there for over 5 minutes, letting the droplets sprinkle all over me.

But still, I can't just stand there all night. I still had to go to the café. Begrudgingly, I grab the bottle of Palmolive Shampoo and Conditioner, squeezing a ton on my hand, and then massage it onto my wet scalp. I hated moving from that comfortable position in the shower. Oh, poop.

Though, as much as I want to share my beautiful experience in the shower, I would have to stop here. Why? Well, because it would be just plain awkward. Going into detail with bathing? Ew. But let me just tell you this: it took me at least 30 minutes.

Once I'm done, I exit the bathroom and go back to my room. Of course, I had my towel wrapped around my body. Even though it's my house, you never know, someone might be spying from a distance. You can never feel safe these days, huh?

I approach my closet and pick out a casual, but cute outfit: a baby blue sweater that showed off the shoulders and ripped jeans. My fashion sense is the best, no?

I get dressed, brush my hair, and pocket some cash. Then I search for my book, which took me forever (I'm the messiest person you'll meet, son!), and jam my converse shoes on. They're gray with blue laces on one shoe and sparkly pink laces on the other. I fell for them on first sight at Payless for Shoes.

In a matter of time, I was done getting ready and was prepared for the journey to the café.

Quietly, I open the window to my room and stealthily set myself on the tree branch outside. There's this apple tree outside my window, planted by my little sister, which I always use to get down from my room when sneaking out.

I carefully climb down, branch by branch, and then jump off once I was close enough to the ground. Phew, this was always a work out!

Straightening my sweater, I make my way to the café.

The walk to the café was a quiet and silent one, despite the hum and zooming of passing cars. This was, believe it or not, the quietest Washington D.C. could get.

The city lights were lit up, houses and stores illuminating my way through the darkness of the night. Up above, the sky was dotted with thousands and thousands of bright, white stars, accompanied by the brightest of celestial night bodies: the moon. It was a beautiful sight. And this is why I love my hometown so much – it's so very beautiful.

As I neared the café, something unexpected happened: a hand grabbed me from behind, wrapped itself around my throat, and locked. I struggled to break free from its strong grasp, but the gun brought to my head left me frozen.

"Give me all your money or your brain'll end up everywhere," said a gruff voice.

"Let go of me or I'll call the cops," I threatened.

"How can you call them in your current situation?" The man taunted, laughing. "Now, give it to me before I run out of patience."

I grit my teeth and bringing my foot up; I send it crashing to the man's crotch. There was a loud groan. His grip loosened and I took the chance, escaping from his grasp and running off.

This happened most of the time, to be honest. A teenager going out in the middle of the night? Who wouldn't take advantage of that? But still, I can't get used to it. It was really scary and that's saying something, considering I'm the heroine. Though, I've managed to come up with every solution for any kind of obstacle.

So, my solution for this one? Run like hell.

And I did. But I was slower than usual since I was still tired from baseball practice.

From behind me, I could hear the man's shouts and swears and how he promised he'll shoot holes all over me. I thought it couldn't get worst, running away from an armed man in the middle of the night, but it did.

_Bang! _

He had started shooting.

_Bang! Bang! _

I scream, pushing my already-tired body to keep going, running as fast as my throbbing legs would let me. _Faster, _I thought. _Faster. _

_Bang!_

"Scram, you creep!" I screech, "Someone help me! Someone! Please!"

Then, as if my prayers were heard, someone did come to help. A man, dressed in a blue sweater and beige shorts, _flew _pass me and crashed into the creep. I stop in my tracks, flabbergasted, and turn to them. I was only a foot—probably 5 feet—away from them, which gave me a somewhat decent view from the fight.

I couldn't believe it. The man who had _flew _right pass me was the drunkie. And guess what? He had wings. Yes, wings. Big, feathery, pearl-white wings.

The drunkie fights for the gun, which the creep is desperately trying to point at him, but the latter was too weak and in a matter of seconds, the gun flies out of his hands. Then the drunkie places a firm hand on the creep, golden dust seeping from his fingers, and the creep passes out, unmoving.

"Oh my goodness," I say under my breath as the drunkie gets up, brushing his pants.

I freeze once his gaze catches my gaze, the occasional rise and fall of my chest the only movement my body manages to make. I can't even muster the strength to blink. We stare at each other, not budging an inch from where we're placed.

Then after for what seemed like a millennium, he moves. And he's moving toward _me. _My heart begins to beat faster and faster to the point that it feels like it's going to pop out of my chest.

"Hi," he says, smiling that amazing smile of his. Extending a hand, he continues, "I'm Emilio, the one you've given food at the café. And uh, if you couldn't guess, I'm an angel. An angel who is determined to return the favor."

* * *

_A/N: _

Chapter 1! Oh, how I've worked so hard on you.

Sorry if it seems rushed or something. I'm totally not used to first person point of view. Along with fighting scenes. :(

But still, I hope you enjoyed!


	3. Chapter 2

"What?" is all I could say at the moment, baffled by what the drunkie – oh, uh, _Emilio _said. An angel? Is he really serious? I can understand if he wanted to return the favor, that seemed logical, but saying he's an angel? That is so far-fetched. What does that have to do with anything? But then again he _flew _. . . No, Amelia. Angel's aren't real. There must be a logical explanation.

"Um, bro, I'm really grateful and all for you saving me, but are you _serious? _Angels don't exist, pal. They're just something people came up with back in the day before science to explain how the world worked," I say in a matter-of-factly voice.

His smile widens. "Then what explains these?" The two wings behind him rise, the snow-white feathers attached spreading out. They're really huge, spanning about 10 feet in length. They remind me of dove wings.

I stare at them with slight curiosity and slight amazement. How in the world are those things moving? Aren't they fake? They _have _to be fake. There's no way a human can develop wings. That's illogical. Wait a minute . . . "Robotic," I reply. "People these days are creating more and more advanced things."

He stares at me, shocked, and then laughs. He has a nice laugh – it sounds like low bells ringing. Then, with the same smile, he says, "You're Amelia F. Jones. 19 years old. Born on June 4, 1995. Turning 20 this year. Religion? None. An atheist."

"How do you know that?" I ask in complete wonder, my cheeks turning red with the sudden burst of information. I understand my name and age and birth date to be somewhat known, but my religion? Oh, I've kept that a complete secret from everyone, even my parents. "Are you a stalker or something?"

"I told you," he tilts his head a little to the side, "I'm an angel, which means that I can access information up in heaven. Your information was . . . quite interesting. But let's not talk about that at the moment. What we need to do is call 911."

I was about to ask why, but then I remember that I have been nearly mugged and the guy responsible for that was knocked out cold on the ground. I couldn't help but say, "Oh, yeah!" before I bring out my cell phone from my pocket and dial the three numbers required.

"_Hello, 911, how may we help you?_"

* * *

Okay, so here's what happened: I called 911, like Emilio had recommended, and then had to do a long-ass explanation about what happened. Then, I answered a couple of questions and was asked if I wanted to file a case. This being my first time calling 911, I panicked a little. I've never filed a case before And what was worse that the police men who came told me he needed to inform my guardian. Mom is going to kill me.

But then, Emilio had saved me. "No, sir, it's fine. I think he just needs a little thinking to do. Re-arrange his thoughts and all. After all, he lost his job and his wife is going to divorce with him. He doesn't know what else to do. As for informing her guardian, she's nineteen years old. She's her own guardian."

The police officer looked a little overwhelmed. "Oh. Alright. She just looks young, that's all." Clearing his throat, he turned to me. "Is is okay, ma'am?"

"Yes, sir," I reply, my relief surely showing. "Thank you for your assistance."

"It's nothing." He waved his hand. "Alright, I'll see you both soon. I'll just keep this guy in the prison for a little while to . . . give him some time to think. I can't leave him roaming around after that, you know? See you."

The officer smiles at both of us and then gets into his car, which roars back to life, and drives off to the police station.

I stand there, watching the car turn smaller and smaller until it was completely out of view. Then, I let go of the breath I have been holding and release the tension on my shoulders. Talking to a police officer sure is tough.

"You're welcome," says Emilio. "Now, let's go to the café, no? I still have yet to explain and give your gift."

"Oh, uh, yeah, sure," I smile, brushing a lock of my hair behind my ear. "It should take about 20 minutes if we walk, but probably 10 if we run. Or _race._"

Emilio races his eyebrow. "Are you challenging me to a race?"

"Absolutely _not, _my good sir~"

"It sounds like one. I think it is." He smiles and the scratches his tanned cheek. "Sorry, I'll have to pass. I'm not used to walking, much less _running_. I flew here, remember?"

"Oh, yeah, with those robotic wings of yours."

"They're not robotic! They're authentic wings!"

"Sure, sure. Whatever you say, pal."

Emilio rolls his eyes, a hint of annoyance in those golden orbs, and says, "Oh, believe what you want. But I absolutely know that these are real. Feel them."

I shoot a strange look at him, but I couldn't help it. I wanted to feel those soft-looking feathers. Just to see if they feel real as they look real. So, slowly, I glide a hand throughout his robotic wing.

They feel . . . tender. Like a little baby's skin. I continue to run my hand over it. "Oh, my goodness, they feel . . . wow."

"'Wow'? What's that supposed to mean?"

"It's supposed to mean 'wow.' Now hush and let me continue stroking these majestic creations."

"I'm honored?"

I smile at him and then return my full-fledged attention to his robotic wings. The feathers seemed real, each one different but somewhat similar to the other, and they felt real, too. I mean, I've touched a bird once. It was a pigeon. You see, I was hiding behind a bench as a little kid and attempted to grab a pigeon the elderly occupants of the wooden furniture were feeding. I did catch one at some point. It felt good at first. Finally! I had caught it. But the next few seconds, it started pecking at my hands and a minute later, I was bleeding and sobbing like crazy. The pigeon had gotten away and I don't know where it had gone.

"Oh, oh, I have an idea!"

Emilio's voice snaps me back to reality and I look at him with a slightly dazed expression. "What?"

"How about we fly there? These babies are strong enough to carry two!" Puffing out his chest, his wings flutter a few times, sending soft gusts of wind at my way.

I couldn't help but laugh. I don't know why, but I found his way of being proud funny. "Alright." Wait, why did I agree?

"Good. May I lift you up?"

I shrug. "Okay, as long as it's a part of it, I guess. But I do highly doubt we'll fly with those robotic wings."

"Why not? I fly with them all the time," he says, pouting. Then, without warning, he sweeps me up from the ground. I couldn't help but release an, 'eek!' from the sudden action. "I'll blow that doubt away, just you watch."

He began to run and then leapt into the air, flapping his mechanical wings. I held on tight as I watched as we rapidly began to increase our distance from the ground.

In the end, we were thousands of feet from the ground. But I wasn't scared anymore. Instead, I was amazed by the breath-taking view below us.

The city was beautiful in night at Arial view, a nice array of lights. It looked like the night sky; however, instead of white lights for stars, it was multi-colored with blue, red, and yellow. The cars from the late night traffic look like the Milky Way, except it wasn't a spiral. It was a long, thick line that went straight into the distance. Oh, and then the buildings. Don't get me started on the buildings. The light that was thrown onto them made them look as if they were glowing. Oh, if only I had my camera. I would have snapped a couple – no, tons of pictures of this view.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" Emilio asks, smiling at me.

I blink, my face turning a light red. There was just something about how the light dimly lit his face, his shinning gold eyes, his bright smile, and his strange accent that made my heart beat fast. I wet my lips and awkwardly nod in response.

His smile widens. "America has always been my second favorite place to fly over."

"What's your first?"

"Philippines."

"Phil. . . what?"

"Philippines. It's a small island country in Asia. The people there struggle in poverty, except for the government. It's those senators that always seem to bring the people into the slumps. It's as if they're preventing good education so they would stay on top – y'know, because no one wants an uneducated person to rule. Little do they know, they're getting themselves a one-way trip to hell."

"I don't see why you like it if it's that bad of a place."

He frowns slightly. "It's not bad. The people there are hard workers and even though they're struggling, they still manage to smile through it. That's what's so inspiring about it. Don't get me started on the view. Lush, green trees and simple country life. . . Ah, it's just so beautiful."

I stare at him, letting the information slowly sink in. Philippines, huh? I'd better do some research about that someday.

"Ah. There it is." I look down to see the café, just a small square from where we are, but I've memorized every single corner of the street to know it was it. "Hold on tight, okay?"

I nod and make iron my grip. Emilio does so too and swoops down, spreading his wings and gliding down to the ground in a speed so fast I thought my hair was going to be blown away. For a moment, my heart stops, my lungs stop functioning, and air is too slow to breathe in. I want to scream, but I can't. Nothing comes out. But still, I have never felt so alive! Every vain in my body was rushing with pure adrenaline.

He carefully sets us down at the front of the café, inspecting my expression carefully. "Okay, I'll give you a second to calm yourself." He places me down gently onto the pavement and I just pull my legs up, giddy.

"OH MY FRICKIN' GOSH, EMILIO, YOU HAVE GOT TO TELL ME WHERE YOU GOT THOSE WINGS. I WANT THEM TOO."

"I got these when I was created."

"By who?"

"God."

"You really do believe you're an angel. Such a shame."

"That's because I am!"

"Yeah, sure, whatever." I laugh and hop up to my feet. "Let's just get into the café. I'm starving."

"Alright, alright," Emilio pats my back and wraps an arm around my shoulder, leading me inside the café. We are greeted by the nice, warm air and a few stares.

I don't mind the stares though. I was still too happy to even feel embarrassed. But from the corner of my eye, I could see why they would stare at me. At the window, my hair was all over the place and I had a big grin on my face. My whole appearance screamed 'crazy.'

We get to my usual table. Combing my hair with my hand, I wait for a waitress or waiter to come. I glance at Emilio, who was in a lady-like pose (the urge to comment is strong). I don't know why, but he was staring at the side, his eyes intent as if he was talking to someone. But there was no one. I shrug it off.

Sooner or later, Chun comes. It took me a moment to identify her, but it was definitely her. Her facial features, after all, were something I memorized: narrow, chocolate-brown eyes, thin eyebrows, and strict line of a mouth.

"So, why do you have your hair down?" I ask.

She smiles and says, "Trying new look. Haven't changed it since I was seven."

"Well, you look beautiful. Like always."

She laughs and brushes a lock of her silky hair behind her ear. There's. . . something different about her behavior. She seems. . . happy. Like, really happy.

"Anyways, what's your order?"

"I'll have a doughnut and a cup of hot chocolate. No marshmallows this time."

"Oh, that's rare. No marshmallows, huh."

"Yeah, I want to go for a change too." I smile and she just rolls her eyes in response.

"How about your friend here?" Chun nods at Emilio, who was busy playing with the chain piercing on his right ear. He looked aloof, as if he was thinking of something deep. He didn't even notice Chun.

"Emilio," I say, breaking his train of thought, "what would you like?"

"What would I like? Hm. . . Coffee and a churro, please."

Chun writes down our orders, waves goodbye, and disappears into the kitchen.

Once I know that no one was listening or looking (I don't know, but it feels like this was supposed to be top secret), I ask, a little awkwardly, "So. . . can we start discussing now?"

"Oh, of course. Okay, let's see. . . Like I said, I'm Emilio and you've helped me by lending me food while I was on my break. Very kind. And now, I'm here to return the favor."

"Look, Emilio, you don't need to return the favor anymore. I mean, bro, you've already helped me by saving me from that guy."

"Amelia, have you ever read the Bible?" Emilio grabs a sugar pack from the little container on the table and rips it open. I blink, watching him as he pours the contents in his mouth. And here I thought I was the only one who did that.

"Yeah, once or twice."

"Good, then this makes it easier." He pauses for a moment and the continues, "In the Bible, it says that once you do good, it will come back to you. But not in the same amount you've done, but in more. Listen, what I did was just the beginning of your prize. There is a lot more to come. But my main thing to do is convert you back to a Catholic."

I frown. "I'm sorry, but I'm a girl of science. I no longer believe in the Lord because he's just imaginary – something people made to explain the current events taking place."

He stares at me with a solemn gaze. He doesn't smile, he doesn't blink, he just stares. The feeling of his eyes on me makes me sick and uncomfortable. I want to run away, hide somewhere, but I knew better. He wasn't going to hurt me (even though it looks like it). Yes, that's right. He's just. . . processing.

Then, after what seems like forever, he sighs. It's a disappointed sigh. "This is going to be hard. Y'know, convincing you. But. . . I do like a little challenge." He smiles and I could feel my heartbeat speeding up. "Anyways, let's not talk about this for now. Today, we'll discuss. Ask me whatever you'd like."

"Okay," I cross my legs, leaning back on my seat. "First thing's first. Let's start from the very beginning. During school, I saw you. I don't know if it's my overly active imagination or not, but hey. You looked too real."

"Yes, that was me. I wanted to tell you about my gift, but you were too busy."

"Okay, moving on. I had a dream earlier – even though I don't dream much – and it was about you. Now, I don't know if it's a coincidence or not, but you said you would explain. It's a long shot, but hey, did you do it?" It's not like I believe he has angel powers or anything. Absolutely not. But I read somewhere that someone could send a message to someone else if they follow certain instructions. I tried it for fun and it worked (I won't go into this). The same could go for this guy.

"I communicated with you through your dreams. It's a thing us angels can do. Sorry I did it without your permission. I was just kind desperate for you to come here so I could return the favor. Sorry again."

"It's fine. Though, I don't believe that it's an angel thing." He frowns and I shrug. I was an atheist, after all. "Let's get to the next question. So, while you were fighting with that guy, I saw _gold dust _come out from your hand. What the hell was that? Was that just my imagination?"

He blinks, staring at me for a moment. He stayed quiet, fishing through his memories most probably, and then placed a fist on his open palm. "Oh! _That._ I just used magic to knock him out. I can't hit, more important _hurt_ a human, you know."

I roll my eyes. There he goes again about his angel stuff. Geez, this guy. "Last question. How did you know that stuff about that guy? Were you friends with him or something."

"Me? Friends with a human? Oh, no, no. I have no time for that. I just merely talked to his guardian angel."

"Okay, let's stop talking about this before I flip the table. I don't really like talking about. . . y'know." I shifted uncomfortably. "Go on, ask me anything you'd like."

"No need. I've looked through your files, records, and history. I know everything about you." He smiles once seeing my shocked expression and continues, "Don't worry. I'll keep everything a secret. I won't tell anyone. Promise."

I frown and brush a stray lock of my golden hair behind my ear. "Fine, if you say so. But I just had a thought, Emilz. "—he blinks, probably bewildered by the new nickname—"I don't have all my life to listen to your persuading about being a Catholic. Neither do you. I'm pretty sure we have better things to do than this. So, let's make a deal." I pause a moment, letting the information slowly sink in. "You have a month to convince me. No more, no less. If you fail, you leave. If you succeed, then whoopty-doo. Congrats. Deal? . . . What, don't look at me like that! You were the one who said you liked challenges. This is a challenge."

Emilio sits back on his chair and nervously wets his lips. He whispers to someone (I'm sure it's not me), "I got this, I got this, don't worry." Then, after a few more moments, he extended out a hand. "Deal."

I smile and take his hand. This was going to be fun.

* * *

_A/N:_

_*AGGRESSIVELY BOWS* GOMEN, GOMEN. THIS TOOK FOREVER!_

_But a lot of things have been happening lately so it took me a while to create this chapter. Sorry!_


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